The Mirror
by sideoflight
Summary: House sat at the end of the table, ignoring pitying stares from the others and trying hard to avert his mind from the pain he felt not only in his leg, but also in his chest... House,Wilson friendship. Mentioning of character's death, probably OOC


I own nothing of interest.

This was inspired by a dream I had a few days ago and it was so vivid, I decided to write it down. Then I changed it slightly, so it resembled a fic…and this is what it came out. ;)

I must warn you that there is a mention of character death. And OOC House and Wilson.

This kind of a story has probably been done to death (no pun intended) but since it's short I'm sure you won't hold it against me…unless it sucks.

Oh one more thing; if the start of the story feels like a couple of pages are missing, it's intentional. But if there is still some confusion at the end, please let me know.

I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors. I blame it on English being my second language.

Please review?:)

* * *

Bright lights were lit in a small room. A table stood in the middle and around it, five people sat silently in their chairs. Left from the door stood a big mirror and next to it was a brown suitcase. 

Wilson's.  
House sat at the end of the table, ignoring pitying stares from the others and trying hard to avert his mind from the pain he felt not only in his leg, but also in his chest.  
Wilson was dead.  
The reality of it was too big to accept. For now.  
But the emptiness already started settling in his heart.  
Cuddy was saying something, but he didn't listen. His leg was killing him.

Everything else felt numb.

Suddenly, he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders.  
He looked around confused, but there was no one.  
The hands were still on his shoulders but suddenly one came to rest between his shoulder blades and he could feel warmth spreading all over his back.

It made him relax.

House felt surreal. There was no logical explanation to this. The feeling was solid, hands were there and he felt a presence next to him, but all he could see was air.  
An irrational thought crossed his mind.  
_Wilson.__  
_House closed his eyes for a moment. The pain dulled down a bit.  
Suddenly his rational mind started working again and he got up.  
There is _no way_ this could be happening. He tried to rationalize it, but no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't come up with anything except that he was losing his mind.  
Or that Wilson was indeed here.  
Yeah, he was losing his mind.  
House started pacing around the small room, ignoring the silent crowd behind the table and looking from wall to wall for anything. He hoped someone was pulling a prank on him and something in the room would give him a clue to what was happening, but everything was completely normal.  
Suddenly he stopped.  
Something was wrong with the mirror. He raised an eyebrow and limped closer.  
The image was shaking. It reminded him of a hologram and he stepped so close, his nose was almost touching the cool glass.  
Something was definitely not right.  
Taking a deep breath, House leaned forward, fully expecting his face to hit the glass.  
Except the impact never came.  
He stepped through the glass and found himself in the same room, only this time there was no one sitting behind the table.  
House looked around and saw a person leaning on the wall opposite of the mirror and looking back at him.  
It was Wilson.  
For a few moments they stood there, looking at each other, neither man moving a muscle.  
"You...you can see me?" whispered Wilson, his hands starting to shake slightly.

House couldn't speak so he just nodded and took two steps forward, not truly sure what was happening.

_He's dead._  
He reached with his left hand towards Wilson, expecting to wake up any moment. What he didn't expect however, were two hands wrapping around him and the embrace squeezing all air out of his lungs.  
The pain in his chest increased when his own hands wrapped around Wilson and he could feel the fabric of his friend's shirt as his fingers dug into the other man's back. If that was a dream, it felt too damn real for House's liking.

_But as long as he's here..._  
"Why the hell did you leave me?" he mumbled into Wilson's shoulder and held tighter, not wanting to let go even if it wasn't real...probably a hallucination... This would mean he must have fallen asleep on the chair…or blacked out.  
"Wasn't exactly my choice to die, House." chuckled the oncologist.

_Deceased oncologist._  
"So now what?" asked the older man quietly, not breaking the contact.  
He already decided that this was some bizarre hallucination, most likely induced by the amount of alcohol, morphine and Vicodin he absorbed the night before, but at least he saw his friend one last time...even if it wasn't real.

_Probably his subconscious torturing him…_  
"Now? I leave for good and you go on with your life like you did before." House detected a hint of pleading in those words and he reluctantly released Wilson.  
"We'll see about that last part." grumbled the diagnostician but quickly looked down as not to see the sadness in his friend's eyes.

Cold started gripping House's heart as he looked for the last time at his best friend.  
"Bye House." a warm smile played on Wilson's mouth as he put his hand on his friend's shoulder for the last time. House could only nod, his throat too chocked to speak.

It only took a blink of an eye and he found himself standing alone in the small room, staring blankly at the mirror.

The table was gone the suitcase was gone, he was the only one left in that room with the mirror.

House opened his eyes with a start, his chest moving rapidly as he glanced around.

He was lying in his bed, an empty syringe by his left elbow and a half-empty bottle of scotch by the bedside. That explains the high-quality pictures.

Of course he knew it wasn't real, but the hopeful part of him felt disappointed that he never managed to say goodbye for real.

The thought sobered him. Pain shot through his body, this time he knew it wasn't his leg.

_Wilson is gone._

Clumsily he lifted a hand and dragged it over his face.

Suddenly he frowned.

_How exactly_ did _Wilson die?_

His mind was blank. The only thing he could remember was getting wasted that night and the dreams. He didn't remember the day before.

_Was his friend even dead?_

Hope fluttered in his chest as he slowly groped around for his cell phone. Cursing his body, he swore he'll never take morphine after alcohol again. It was clouding his mind, his thoughts were slow and his memory was like a Swiss cheese.

Finally House found it lying next to the bottle on the floor and he picked it up.

Several minutes and many misplaced calls later, he finally managed to get Wilson's number.

He swallowed as the phone rang, panic rising with each dial tone. He felt his mind clearing, drug's effect wearing off while his fear increased.

_Wilson, if you don't answer so help me…_

"Hello?"

House almost laughed with relief at the sound of his friend's voice. He discreetly cleared his throat and spoke with an accent.

"Dr.Wilson, this is the wake-up call you ordered."

The line was quiet for a few seconds and then…

"House! Why the hell are you calling me at three in the morning?!"

_Just making sure…_

"I actually wanted to talk to Cuddy, but I couldn't reach her. Just wanted to make sure you weren't the reason she's not answering." he smirked while lying back on the bed. Everything was normal.

With a content sigh he closed his eyes.

"Oh, she's here if you want to talk. I'll just wake her up. Wait a second."

House's eyes snapped open abruptly. Silence rang between them until Wilson spoke again.

"Relax, she's not with me. Why did you call anyway?"

Closing his eyes again, House decided he might let Wilson off the hook this time. At least until morphine and alcohol completely wear off…

"House?" the voice on the other end sounded tired but worried.

"Good night Wilson." replied House sleepily, dropping the phone on the floor and falling almost instantly back to sleep.

Wilson stared with confusion at the phone in his hand, not sure whether to call back or go to sleep. After a few moments, he decided House's voice didn't sound urgent and whatever it was, Wilson knew it could wait until morning. With a shake of his head he went back to sleep, convinced House was just bored when he called.

_-ende_


End file.
